


Trust

by Crime4Lime



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, M/M, Minecraft, Oneshot, Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crime4Lime/pseuds/Crime4Lime
Summary: George discovers his house in ruins, and isn't sure how he feels about the length Dream goes to get revenge for him. Conversation ensues.Based on when Tommy burnt down George's house :) Minecraft but its real life, and its mainly centered around George and Dream with the appearances of Karl, Sapnap, Punz, and Callahan. (L'manburg boys mentioned)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you enjoy this dnf fic B) Obviously, if Dream or George ever say their uncomfy with dnf fics i will take this down! if you have any tips or anything let me know :)  
> also like,,, i hate works without tabs at the beginning of each paragraph but when i copied and pasted it donked it up :( will probs fix soon!!

George hesitated before the castle doors, slender fingers hovering in the air before elegant carvings.

Punz said Dream would be here.

He hadn’t seen his best friend much in the last few days. Yesterday morning, he was jolted away from his favorite fireside chair by Karl, who had burst through the library doors shoulders heaving and sweat glimmering on his red cheeks.

“What is it?” George had asked mildly, placing his book spine up on the small table beside him.

“Your- Your house,” Karl had said, still trying to catch his breath.

What about my house?

Karl swallowed. “it- they burned it. It’s destroyed.

At the time, George had scoffed. He had no beef with anyone and it was in his job description to be neutral. His house was cute, not too close to anyone, not too far, (But far enough from the castle that George didn’t have to think too hard). Surely, this was a prank, maybe from Sapnap or Quackity along with Karl, and he’d get too his house and it’d just be covered in ugly portraits of him as his friends laughed...

Karl had been insistent though, eventually dragging George by the shirt sleeve until he stood in front of the hole in the hill and few burnt pieces of wood that had been his house.

George had spent days on that house. Hours planning, searching, constructing. He knew he had his castle as his true home. But it would never truly feel like it, with its tall stone walls towering over him, always giving him a chill no matter how many layers he wore or torches he lit.

The castle wasn’t made by him, it was made by the previous king. The stone walls felt to have eyes in the crevices, the empty rooms stared judgingly as he walked by. How was he supposed to feel that castle was his home when there’d been an assassination attempt hours after he came to the throne?

George had just stared at his house for a while, mouth slightly agape. He’d stood completely still, his hands slack at his side, as if he just waited long enough he could watch his house unburn in real time.  
My fish is gone, He had thought numbly, looking at the dried remains of what used to be a manmade pond. I wonder if whoever did this just let them flop around till they died, or if they at least put them out of its misery early.

“Can you-“ His voice sounded choked when he finally spoke. “Can you go get Dream for me?”

Karl hesitated, a few paces behind George. “I would,” He says. “But he um- he’s a little busy,”

George scoffed, ducking a head back to look at the other boy to see if he was really serious. Karl was looking at him with wide, intense eyes. “He’ll understand, I’m sure,” George waved a hand to encompass the smoking remains, fighting hard to keep his voice dry and flat.

“No,” Karl said, “He’s busy, um, handling this, I guess you could say.” George opened his mouth to ask what Karl could mean, but the other boy had already grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him along. “It’d be better if I just showed you,” He’d said.

Dream had built a wall.

Or was in the process of building, George guessed. The walls landed only a few feet above George’s dark brown hair. The walls were dark as night, a stark contrast to the lively grass it trampled on.

(George wondered briefly if the walls were a dark red, but no, he was quite certain that this was made from the same material portals were. Dark, haunting black, covered in sharp edges.)

From this angle, George couldn’t really see everything the walls encompassed. But he knew, in the pit of his stomach, what lay inside. The very country that had been struggling from Dream’s iron grip, that had shed their self placed walls only days ago.

“Tommy was the one that griefed your house,” Karl had whispered, like the walls were an invasive presence, like Dream had glued ears to them. “And with Tommy being, like, vice president, Dream took it against the nation,”

George swallowed.

Only a little later that day, George had sat in Karl’s part of L’manberg, leaning against a wall. Karl was ranting, pacing in circles, complaining about being left out of the L’manberg Cabinet meeting. George had been trying not to doze off when Callahan, a tall, silent man came running up, carrying a note from Dream.

Get out of there, it had said, scrawled out in Dream’s sharp handwriting. Nervous for Karl, he’d taken them both finding Dream sitting on a nearby hill, overlooking the captured nation.

He’d stood beside Dream, fidgeting with his sleeves, trying to think of what to say and how to say it. Karl disappeared, muttering something about llamas, so the pair was left alone, standing just slightly closer than was necessary for a conversation.

(Usually, they stood almost hip to hip. But Dream always initiated that, and right now Dream was standing stick straight, unmoving, staring down at L’manberg.)

They’d been standing for a couple minutes when Philza ran up, his hat pulled low to block the sun, a basket clenched tightly in his pale fingers. He offered it out to Dream, but George swiped it, plucking it neatly from Phil’s hands.

It was filled with Golden apples. George raised an eyebrow at Phil.

“Uh,” Phil said, glancing at Dream, who remained carved from stone. (Confident Dream= fidgeting and moving, Unsure Dream= frozen, George knew.) “Those are for Dream. I owe him.”

“No,” George said simply, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ll take them,”

Blinking, Phil glanced between the two, about to say something when Dream smoothly intervened.  
“That’s fine,” Dream flicked his fingers dismissively, “Thank you, Phil.”

Phil dipped his head in a nod – it almost reminded George of a small bow- his gaze flickering in between the quiet pair before he turned and hurried off.

“I’m gonna need one or two of those,” Dream murmured to him, referring to the apples.

George ignored that, inhaling slightly, checking Philza was out of hearing range before he spoke. “Is this really necessary?” George had asked. “Like, they can still go back and burn my house down again,”

When George had started talking, Dream had inclined his head slightly, to show he was listening. Now he shook his head slowly, his expression hidden behind his ovular mask. “I’m handling that too,” His voice had been low. “Don’t worry,”

“Well like,” George picked at the hem of his shirt, squinting at Dream. “What’re you doing to handle it?”

Dream just shook his head again, finally turning to face George. (George really had to squint at him now, the sun was right behind Dream, enlightening him like some sort of angel.) “I’ll handle it,” He reiterated, reaching a hand up to rest on George’s shoulder. His thumb landed on the edge of George’s collar bone, making his stomach jump. “Trust,” He had said, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Another time, they hadn’t really talked, at least one on one. The L’manberg President and Cabinet were enraged with Dream, demanding to know why the walls had sprung around their nation. George had sat quietly that conversation, hand on his bow, Sapnap standing as guard on his right shoulder.

Dream did not need a guard. Everything about him spoke as deadly, from his posture – shoulders thrown back, chin tilted up, as if he weren’t looking down on you, he wouldn’t look at you at all. The axe across his back, knives dazzling his belt. And the mask, straps hidden by the dark green hood, blank smiley staring at them all.

Dream always managed an air of elegance, even when he was at his most crazed.

George had had a guard ever since that meeting, though no one said outright that that is what it was. It started with Sapnap, laughing at him as he labored through rebuilding his house. Then, once he’d gone to sleep and woken, it’d been Callahan, who agreed to help without so much as a word. He’d switched with Punz a little after noon, who helped George with décor for the exchange of a couple sarcastic remarks.

Punz and George had at last stepped back, admiring the day’s work. Not done yet, but closer by the hour.

“I think Dream said he needed something at the castle,” Punz said.

“Oh? When’d he say that?”

Punz had shrugged. “A while ago, but I think he’d wanted to talk to you. I bet he’s there now.”

George didn’t know why he was nervous to open this door.

He pushed through, to reveal Dream, sitting at a small square table with his back to George. George noticed his armor, hung on the wall beside George, and Dream’s axe, laid beside Dream on the table. His hood was down, but George could see the straps of the mask, dark against his light hair where they tied on the back of his head. For once, Dream was not straight backed, his elbows were on the table and his chin appeared to be nearly in his arms.

George softened his voice so as to not startle his friend. “Dream?”

Dream turned in his seat, the blank smiley face staring emptily through George’s skin. Dream’s hair was rumpled, and his hoodie had rips in it. “Hey, George,” He said, his voice tired.

George walked hesitantly over to him, choosing to take the seat on the side of the table to Dream’s left. Crumpled stacks of paper sat to Dream’s right, and a half-filled sheet sat in front of him now. The gloves Dream wore started at his forearms, where his dark hoodie ended, and stretched out, stopping at the base of his fingers. He held a quill in his right hand, tapping it loudly against the desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, referring to the paper in front of him. He couldn’t really read the writing, between the odd angle and Dream’s chicken scratch.

Dream just shook his head -it made his hair flop over his mask- and moved this paper to the side with the others. He dropped his head into his hands- not looking defeated just… worn.

“I’m sorry,” -Dream’s voice is muffled, “That I haven’t helped more with putting your house back together.”

George blinked, surprise making the silence stretch out a little longer than normal etiquette. “Oh,” George said. “No worries, Punz and Callahan have been helping. Sapnap watched.”

Dream lets out a breath, letting his hands drop. George wishes he’d take off his mask. Dream shows his face often enough, if it’s just George and Sapnap around. “I know,” Dream told him, and even without seeing his eyes George could tell Dream was looking at him with solid, steady, eye contact. “I should be there too,”

George thought of how when he found his house, how he’d immediately only wanted to see was Dream. He had wanted his stability, his plans. The way he stood just close enough to George, so their arms brushed when they moved.

He’d gotten to attached to Dream’s protectiveness. How Dream immediately defended him from any joke that went too far. How Dream always stepped in front of George, putting him out of harm’s way. (George and Dream both knew George could handle himself. It didn’t stop Dream from protecting him, and George from enjoying it. Dream knew the balance, of letting George handle himself and when he should step in.) 

Would he have still craved Dream’s presence if he knew how far Dream would take protecting him? To isolating an entire nation?

“Oh,” Dream’s voice snaps George out of his spiraling thoughts. “I have something for you,” He says, pushing the chair back and heading deeper into the castle. “Stay there,” He called over his shoulder once George had tried to get up and follow.

George sat back down gratefully. His legs and arms were sore from lifting things to and fro around his property. He remembered, suddenly, talking to Ranboo earlier. He’d apologized for helping Tommy burn George’s house, but had added, “Though I do think Dream is taking this much too far,”

George knew it wasn’t all about him. George knew Dream had problems with L’manberg. “Dream said this was the last straw,” Sapnap had relayed to him, as George nailed a hinge on his door. “The stone that started the avalanche,”

But what Dream was doing was still crazy. He wanted L’manberg back, under his control. The people within those walls were stuck until they either listened to Dream, and exiled Tommy for his actions, or stuck a compromise.

Shouldn’t George feel more guilt over this?

George heard Dream return, but he didn’t look over at his friend. His footsteps were careful, evenly timed, until they came to a stop on George’s right.

Dream plops a full water bucket on the table, splashing George a bit. He sputters, making Dream laugh as he passes behind him to return to his seat.

“Um,” George said, staring at the iron bucket. “Thanks?”

He can basically hear Dream roll his eyes. “Look inside, dummy,” He says.

George has to stand up to peer inside without tilting the bucket. He sees a fish, red with blue fins, squirming inside, appearing fine even with the limited space provided.

He felt the smile on his face grow helplessly. He looked back up at Dream. “This is-“

“Your fish,” Dream finishes, the smile in his voice audible.

“But how did you- I thought they were-“

“Tommy took ‘em” Dream says, his voice still jovial. “But I took ‘em right back,”

George’s grin grows impossibly wider. He sits back down, and leans towards Dream, trying to push his gratitude toward his friend. “Thank you Dream,” He says. “Really,”

He can picture Dream’s signature grin, the one he gets when he’s proud of something he’s done. (He gets it a lot.) The sharp white teeth, the chip on his left front tooth, how his smile pulls more on one side than the other. “No problem at all,” Dream says, dipping his head at George. (Almost like a bow.) “Anything for you,”

(Those words shouldn’t make George feel like this, like he was above his skin, like he could hear anything right now and still be unable to stop smiling. Dream shouldn’t have this effect on him.)

(Why did Dream have this effect on him?)

The pair sat in silence for a bit, George reaching out, tracing over the bucket with the pads of his fingers. The bucket was lumpy and dirty. He wondered if it was Dream’s original bucket, from the beginning of these lands.

“George?”

George swallowed, glancing back at Dream. “Yes?”

“Do we… need to talk about what’s happening?”

George blinked.

“With me going to war and all,” Dream says.

“Oh,” George mutters, looking at his hands. He twines his fingers together.

He glances up in time to see Dream’s throat bob.

“Can you…” George starts, then trails off.

Dream immediately leans in. “Can I?”

George feels heat rise to his cheeks, and he looks away, not wanting Dream to point it out. “Can you take off your mask?”

Dream freezes.

(George had never asked before. Dream just did it sometimes, and they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t ask him why; they didn’t mention it. And why would George ever ask? How weird was that?)

The flush in George’s face rose to his ears. He looked hard at the bucket in front of him. “I- I just- it’s easier to read your expressions. And – I- prefer it- I guess,” He finishes lamely.

He glances up at Dream. He hasn’t said anything or moved. He hasn’t looked away from George.

Dream reaches up, And George catches the blood on his knuckles, scabbed over. The bitten skin around his nails. He follows with his other hand tugging at the knot at the back of his head. Flinching a bit- his hairs caught in the knot.  
George rolls his eyes now – when was the last time Dream took it off?- and stood up, moving behind Dream. He batted his friends hands out of the way, making sure to be gentler than he normally would.

He hesitates before untying the knot. (Friends don’t help friends with hairstyling) (Do they?) (Is he making this weird than he needs to be?) (He didn’t even ask Dream...)

He reaches out, taking the knot in his hands and pulls it away from Dream’s head. He takes the hairs caught in it, trying to gently tug it out from the knot. (Why is Dream’s hair soft? He’s supposed to be some chaos inducing demon.) Huffing – embarrassed, face still red- he unties it, grabbing the mask and returning to his seat.

Dream’s looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Feeling his heart jump, he handed him his mask back. He takes it and sets it by his elbow.  
Even though George prefers it, it takes him a moment to adjust to Dream’s face. To actually looking him in the eyes, to seeing the full potency of his smile- though his face is serious now, just filled with a quiet question.

“Do you-“ Dream cut himself off, then glanced down at his hands in front of him. It made his golden hair flop over his eyes. “What do you think,” He rephrases, “About what I’m doing?”

George glances down, away from Dream’s eyes. His eyes catch on Dream’s hands as he bounces his knuckles lightly against the table. George wants to reach out and still it, to catch him by the wrist, and then slide his fingers up, till they brush gently over the still healing scabs-

The scabs he got for George, presumably.

George had friends in L’manberg. Hell, Quackity and Karl were both in the Cabinet. He knew the president, Tubbo. He liked Tubbo. Tommy was a little loud for a daily friendship, but he appreciated how funny the kid could be, and liked how loud Dream laughed when around him. (But that hadn’t happened in a long time anyway. Dream. Tommy. Seems they’re kind of stuck in an endless battle, aren’t they?) George had liked Wilbur, too, but Wilbur was dead now. His ghost occasionally haunted George, floating airily beside George and ignoring all the faults the alive Wilbur had had. George didn't know Fundy well, but didn't like the fox much. Something in the way he looked at Dream.

L’manberg, he decided, didn’t deserve to be encaged.

But that wasn’t the question, was it?

It wasn’t about the logic of it, weighing right and wrong like a scale, it was about Dream. About why he did it. And if George cared. If George cared that Dream could capture them all like spiders in a glass, if George cared that his friends would look at Dream like that, like he was power incarnate.

(George had already thought it. Dream was some chaos inducing demon to most people. A chaos inducing demon that cared what George thought.)

“I think…” George said slowly, staring at his hands. His hands looked pale, compared to Dream’s, the skin a porcelain white lined with blue veins. Dream’s hands were tanned, the veins on the back looking closer to a green.

George swallowed.

“I think,” He said, a little stronger this time, flicking his gaze up to meet Dream’s eyes. “That you’re a villain,”

The words don’t affect Dream immediately. His face blanks at first, his brows falling, mouth parting, then abruptly- his shoulders slump. His mouth shuts. Eyebrows lower over his eyes, as they always do when he’s hurt, like he can’t handle you looking him in the eye. George pretends not to notice that Dream immediately straightens, effectively putting space between the two.

“But” George continues, forcing himself to look away from his friend. “I-“ He cuts himself off. He can feel Dream staring at him, in the way the side of his face prickles. “I don’t think I care,”

Dream makes a choked noise and turns back to look at him, how Dream’s brow furrowed even more and how he looked at George with hurt.

“Not- Not like that!” George says hurriedly, grabbing Dream’s hand. “I- I care Dream, I care about you. But I also care about Quackity. And Karl.”

“And L’manberg,” Dream finishes. He fist tightens under George’s hand.

“I mean,” George says. “Not really. But kind of. I guess.

“But you think I’m a villain,” Dream leans in towards George sharply, eyes wide, begging for George to contradict him.

George’s cheeks flush. “Well,” He says. “You have to admit what you’re doing is kind of wrong, right?”

Dream scowls. “Burning your house is wrong!”

George tightened his grip on Dream’s hand, afraid he’ll pull away. “I know! But, like, taking a nation captive, trying to force them to exile a kid, a kid whose best friend is the president, who’s another kid! Like-“

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Dream snaps, eyes flashing. “I let them be a nation. I wanted us all to be together, one big happy family, but they left us. And I let them! Because I thought it’d be safest, for everyone, for you, but then they go-“

“Dream,” George interrupts, leaning so far forward he’s nearly out of his chair. “I know I- I know we disagree. And I’m telling you that’s fine. I don’t care.”

Dream’s mouth is open again, and his eyes are narrowed. His cheeks are flushed pink beneath his freckles.  
George squeezes his hand again, trying to get Dream to understand. “I don’t care. I- you can do what you want Dream. I trust you,”

Dream says nothing.  
Dream drops the eye contact, looking down at George’s hand covering his. He itches to pull it back, embarrassed under Dream’s gaze (Which is dumb, its Dream’s hand, its not like he didn’t know what George was doing.) But Dream’s eyes just continue to wander down, till he’s staring at his lap.

Dream’s voice is quiet murmur. “You called me a villain,” He reiterates, not an accusation this time. “You know- you know I’d never hurt you, right?”

George’s mind went to all the times Dream stepped in front of him, to all the times he stopped George from being put in harms way. “I know, Dream,” His voice had softened- it was only for Dream.  
Dream swallows. Tightens and untightens his fist.

Then Dream moves, carefully, like he doesn’t want to startle George. He pulls his hand out from under George’s and brushes his fingers up George’s forearm -it tickles a bit- until he wraps his fingers carefully just above his elbow. Dream looks at him, finally, from beneath lowered brows, his green eyes piercing, and if it were possible George’s face would’ve turned redder.  
“I know you don’t see it yet,” Dream tells him, voice soft, (Dream’s leaning in, but the two of them are always leaning into each other. Like magnets.) “But I am doing the right thing. I’ll fix all of this.

“I know,” George murmurs. I know you think that, he wants to say, but holds it. “I trust you, Dream.” Dream’s hand tightens, just barely, when he says that, and George likes seeing how his face relaxes just slightly hearing those words.

“And I- I didn’t mean to overstep, yesterday. I know you can handle yourself. It wasn’t like- I wasn’t trying to-“

“I know, Dream,”

Dream swallows. The two are close enough now that their hair touches, George’s dark brown lightly brushing Dream’s dirty blonde, sending tingles through his scalp. George can’t look away from Dream, at the way his bottom lashes brush the skin beneath his eye, at the freckle near his mouth, (it disappears when he smiles), at his lips, parted -just barely- and George can feel the back of his neck heat up as Dream swipes his tongue over them.

“I’m really grateful,” Dream whispers, and George loves his soft voice, the way when he speaks quietly his voice breaks over certain syllables, how it rumbles slightly in George’s ears. “I’m grateful,” Dream reiterates (He’d gotten distracted, George didn’t allow himself to think it was because he was looking at George’s lips.) “That you’re here. That you’ve been here and are telling me you’ll stay. I just- I love you a lot, George,”

George can feel it, the words on his tongue, ready to leap off, but they feel stuck, glued down – George knows he loves Dream, he doesn’t know why he does this-

But Dream just smiles (Mouth closed, sadly, George likes the way Dream’s lips pull to reveal his teeth.) Not a sad smile, either, a warm, knowing smile, as their foreheads almost touch and George can’t help himself but to tilt his chin up and kiss him.

There’s no hesitation in Dream. He tilts his head immediately, nudging their noses together as he kisses George back. George feels warmth spread through him, like Dream’s a fire, breathing life into him every time their lips reconnect.

When the two finally pull away – just slightly, still fitting their noses next to each other, breathing each other’s air- They wear matching grins, eating at their whole face.

“God,” Dream scoffs, his air pushing against George’s lips. “Took you long enough,”

George bursts out laughing, right in Dream’s face, making the other tilt his head back and laugh even harder, his grip on George tightening, like he won’t let him go just yet.

George doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it B)


End file.
